Doing What's Expected
by Apollo888
Summary: When you rekindle an old romance after years apart, certain questions are inevitable. A Mary and Matthew modern AU story. Part of the Live in My Memory series. The sequel to Make You Feel Brand New, followed by The First Noël.


**Painswick House, Eaton Square, Belgravia, London, England, July 2015**

"Ma'am, that's the last of it," the mover called, coming into the now empty living room.

Lady Mary Crawley kept staring at the mantle of the fireplace. Framed photographs of her Aunt Rosamund, her Uncle Marmaduke and her parents and grandmother used to be proudly displayed there. Now it was unadorned as the wall above it, blank and wiped clean, ready for the next family to move in and put it to their own use, not knowing what used to be there.

"Very good," Mary said, finally turning her head to acknowledge the man waiting on her answer. "You can go ahead. I'll lock up here."

"Yes, ma'am," the mover nodded, turning and leaving the house, the heavy front door closing with a thud behind him.

Mary hugged herself, crossing her arms in front of her as she slowly walked through the house. All the furniture and art was gone, either given as gifts to friends of her aunt's or sold and the proceeds donated to charity. Mary kept some of the pieces, particularly her bedroom set, some paintings and sculptures that had passed down through her family for generations, but truthfully, she didn't have any use for most of the contents of her aunt's house. She had lived here since she was a teenager, spent most of her life here, and though it didn't come close to Downton Abbey or Grantham House, it was her home nonetheless.

She wandered through to the dining room and smiled, thinking of the numerous formal dinners that her aunt hosted. At first, they were mainly board meetings for various non-profit organizations and fundraisers, where Aunt Rosamund would preside, acting as hostess, mediator and judge in equal parts. As Mary grew older, the dinners gave way to full blown parties, usually involving an eligible bachelor or five that Aunt Rosamund thought would be a 'perfect partner' for Mary to build a future with. Mary detested these glorified auctions, where she was put on display for a group of rich bidders, but she smiled demurely and laughed coquettishly through them all, the social lessons taught to her by her Mama and Granny never completely forgotten, but no man ever making a lasting impression upon her.

Passing through the kitchen, with its gleaming marble counter tops and stainless steel appliances, Mary grinned as happy memories played around her. This was the one room that her aunt never came into. This was a servants' domain, and whatever Aunt Rosamund needed, be it a glass of water or a seven-course meal, would be prepared here and brought out by Meade, the butler, or someone else. Mary used to escape here late in the evenings, sit at the island with a book, a magazine or her tablet and a fresh pot of Chamomile and drift far away. Perhaps it was because this room, more than any other, reminded her of Downton, and how there, as a child, she would sneak downstairs to listen to records in Carson's office, or snatch cookies and cocoa after Mrs. Patmore had gone to bed.

She ran her hand along the wall of the long hallway leading to the main stair. The place felt even colder than before with every room now painted an eggshell white. Mary walked slowly up the stairs, glancing about as she went, taking it all in for the last time. Aunt Rosamund's dream was for Mary to ensnare a rich and powerful husband, and one day have her own home in Belgravia from which she would host parties that all of London would talk about for months afterward. A hostess and power broker was the highest ambition she should hope to achieve, according to her aunt. Now, with Aunt Rosamund having passed and Painswick House sold, Mary was a millionaire several times over. She didn't need to work, which would have pleased Aunt Rosamund immensely. But Mary enjoyed her job at Tate Modern, and so she would continue on there. She also didn't need a husband to hide behind, if she ever did. She could go forward and forge her own path, dictate how her life would unfold without worrying about money, or status and position, or a man. After all these years, she felt as though she was beginning anew, which was why she had to sell Painswick House and move somewhere else. There was too much of her past here, and though, overall, she would remember the house fondly, it had no place in her future.

Mary let out a deep breath as she stepped into her old bedroom. Her life seemed to be a series of profound changes, all coming unexpectedly and knocking her completely off the course she originally imagined for herself, or that others had set out for her. She lost her parents and sisters at a young age, and the freedom she previously enjoyed was taken away when she was placed under her aunt's supervision. Aunt Rosamund took it upon herself to finish Mary's training and education, and to give her the life that her parents would have wanted for her, or at least the life that Aunt Rosamund felt Mary's parents would have wanted for her anyway. Mary was already familiar with the standards she was expected to meet, but Aunt Rosamund had a fierce dedication to the task. Mary's upbringing included lessons in etiquette, dance, piano, singing and cooking, as well as regular primers on politics and current events so she would 'have something intelligent to say in conversation'. She never really questioned any of it back then, following her aunt's orders faithfully, and truly it had all paid off.

By the time she finished sixth form, Mary was well known in London Society, attending all the important parties and functions, socializing with all the important people, studying at the best schools and making a name for herself. She was young, beautiful, armed with a quick wit, a storied family name and a trust fund that made her one of the more eligible socialites in Europe. Aunt Rosamund was convinced that once Mary graduated from university with whatever token degree she chose, she could pick from a number of approved suitors and her destiny would be fulfilled.

Her world changed again when she met a tutor for her 19th century English literature class named Matthew Reginald Crawley.

Mary leaned her hands on the window sill, looking out to the garden below. Her relationship with Matthew was a saga unto itself. They did not get along at first, not at all, in fact. She thought he was an arrogant writer who was entirely full of himself. He thought she was a spoiled rich girl who didn't really care about English literature. They argued, a lot, but eventually they warmed to each other, enjoying sparring with each other, testing each other, until quite unexpectedly they fell in love. Before he was her boyfriend though, he was her tutor, and to say that Aunt Rosamund didn't approve of him was a severe understatement.

She couldn't remember it, but Matthew had told her about the incident with vivid detail. The first time Mary had a study session with Matthew off campus, it had happened in this very bedroom. Apparently after the boy had left, Aunt Rosamund gave her a severe scolding. Mary rolled her eyes as she remembered how Aunt Rosamund could jump to conclusions so easily and always assume the worst, so it was entirely believable that her aunt had berated her that night over twelve years ago, first for having a man in her bedroom unchaperoned, and worse, for the man being not from their class, and nothing but a commoner.

"A proper lady does not invite a man up to her bedroom!" Mary said aloud, shaking her head as she repeated her aunt's stinging words, so often told to her as a warning and likely spoken with increased alarm the night she saw Mary go upstairs with Matthew.

"Well technically, I haven't been offered an invitation as of yet," a voice replied.

Mary gasped in surprise and spun around. She laughed and arched her eyebrow playfully at the man standing in her doorway.

"Are you adding eavesdropping to your list of horrible qualities?" she asked lightly, stepping towards him.

"In addition to trespassing into your home and stalking you to your bedroom?" Matthew teased, smirking at her as she drew near.

"Perhaps Aunt Rosamund was right about you," Mary smiled. "You're only after one thing and you've corrupted me with your wicked ways and lack of propriety."

"Not entirely," he corrected her. "You'll note that I have not set foot inside your boudoir, as of yet."

She shook her head and stopped a few feet away from him, crossing her arms in front of her. "Waiting for an invitation, are you? I may suspect that you're a vampire."

"I believe that a vampire must be invited into the house. Once he's inside, any room is fair game," he noted, remaining in place. "I'm just showing any ghosts that may be lingering about that I am capable of being a proper gentleman."

"Well, then, Matthew Crawley," she said pointedly. "I'm inviting you into my bedroom."

Matthew smiled and stepped across the threshold, coming over and taking her into his arms.

"Hello, darling," he said, kissing her softly. "I see you've finished with the movers."

"Yes," Mary nodded, smiling wanly up at him. "I was just going through the house one last time, since I'll never set foot in here ever again."

"Lady Mary Crawley," he said, kissing her again. "You're a sentimentalist."

"No one's ever called me that," she scoffed. "I just thought it was the appropriate thing to do, to pay my respects in a way."

"Of course," he said patiently. "Take all the time you need."

"I think I'm about done, actually," she said bravely, stepping back from him and taking his hand. "It's time to go."

Matthew nodded and escorted her out the door and downstairs to the foyer. He stood by silently as Mary made one last pass through the ground floor to ensure all the doors and windows were locked up and the lights turned off. Finally, he stepped outside first and remained quiet, watching carefully as Mary locked the grand front door to her aunt's house. When she was done, she turned to face him, her eyes moist and tinged with red.

"Come on," he said softly, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her towards his car parked at the kerb. "Let's go and grab a bite."

 **Westminster Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, July 2015**

Officially, Matthew lives in New York. He still has ties to England and considers himself more British than American. He's still a British citizen, his mother and some cousins still live in Manchester, where he was born and raised, and he still has friends in London who he went to university with. For the past ten years though, home has been a cosy flat in Manhattan, being the entire top floor of a four-storey building.

Matthew living in America is a bittersweet subject for both he and Mary. They know better than most that life is impossible to predict, but it's a certainty that Matthew would not have stayed in New York for all this time if they had not been unwillingly separated years ago. They've spent the past few months since being reunited getting reacquainted, and Mary's been to his place overseas. They spent two months there recently, from March through to the end of April, having Mary relearn the city she moved to and left over a decade ago. When it was finally time for her to return to London, he followed without question, his publisher putting him up in his usual hotel suite since May.

Even at a generous corporate rate, staying at the Shangri-La is not exactly inexpensive. Matthew's publisher pays for him to stay here whenever he's in London on business – be it a book signing, meeting with agents and representatives at his publisher's UK office, dining with studio executives regarding the screenplay of his book that he's currently writing, or other duties. They're happy to cover his expenses when he's here, particularly since the hotel is right next door to the HarperCollins UK office at The News Building, but it's now been three months that he's been in London, and Mary recently wondered if there were limits to their generosity.

Neither she nor Matthew were comfortable with him staying at Painswick House. It felt wrong for him to sleep there given how opposed to him her Aunt Rosamund was, even up to her death. Mary didn't raise the subject, and he didn't ask, so when they landed at Heathrow, a rental car was waiting for him and he drove them straight to the Shangri-La.

As May turned to June, Mary agonized over bringing up the idea to Matthew that perhaps he should find a place in the City to lease until the end of the year. She felt guilty, as Matthew was only in London to be with her, and she didn't want to be the cause of any tension between him and his publisher, nor did she want him to spend his money on an extravagant hotel suite when there were more affordable options available. She wasn't sure if it was her place yet to discuss money with him. They were a couple, of course, but dealing with finances felt like something you did with your partner of several years, not your boyfriend of a few months.

Mary's concern for Matthew's living arrangements led her to grow even more agitated over her own situation. She told Matthew back in New York that she intended to sell Painswick House by the end of the summer. Though they had not spoken about it, both of them knew that Mary could live anywhere she wanted. The money from the sale of the home, on top of her large trust fund, meant Mary could afford any place she liked. The idea of where Mary would live after Painswick House was sold never entered her mind. She would find a place and buy it, simple as that.

Except of course, what ought to have been simple became much more complicated when she added Matthew to the equation. She knew she wanted him to stay in London. As a writer, he could live anywhere and still pursue his career. Besides, she knew he wanted to stay in London as well. Though they both enjoyed New York, London was home for her, where her job was, and he wasn't bothered either way. Naturally, with Mary soon to be looking for a place to live and it not being practical for Matthew to stay in a hotel suite indefinitely, it followed that they should at least consider living together, or so Mary reasoned.

Living together. Shacking up. Sharing a flat. It was a modern concept but hardly groundbreaking. Mary had friends who'd lived together for years and still weren't married. Daisy and William. Anna and John. Beyond it being the 'thing to do' for many couples these days, it simply wasn't the huge step in a relationship that it was made out to be in the past. The reality was that though she and Matthew lived apart, they were spending most days and all of their nights together anyway, so they were practically already cohabitating as it was.

It just seemed fast to her, though. They had history from years ago that she couldn't remember, so, officially, their new relationship was going on five months in June. The best five months of Mary's life, to be sure, but still only five months. She liked having a place of her own to go back to, even if it was just to change clothes or pick something up before heading out to work or back to Matthew's hotel. Perhaps rushing into anything would damage what they were building together. They had been given another chance at a relationship after all this time, and Mary had enough "normal" concerns over their relationship to add the pressure-cooker of a shared flat to the mix.

It turned out that she didn't need to worry as she recalled how it all played out.

* * *

"What do you think about finding a place to live?" she asked him out of the blue during dinner one night last month.

"I think you definitely should," Matthew replied as he sliced his beef. "You've got a closing date of mid-July for Painswick House. You could always get a place for the short term and take your time finding your next true home, but then you'd have to move twice, which is a bother."

"No," she shook her head, putting her fork down. "I meant for you."

"For me?" he looked up from his plate and frowned.

' _Oh God_ ' she thought. ' _I've raised the entire living together debacle without even intending to!_ '

"Well, you can't stay at the hotel indefinitely, surely?" Mary said, trying to keep her tone as light and even as possible despite her pulse growing faster.

"Why not?" Matthew shrugged, his frown easing slightly, much to her relief.

"I just don't want you to abuse your publisher's faith, is all," she offered.

Matthew smiled and put his knife and fork down. He reached for his wine glass, still smiling at her.

"Darling, I'm quite sure it's no trouble for them," he said.

"That may be what they say," she agreed. "But you don't want to get on their bad side. How would it look if word got out about how they're paying for you to live in luxury for months at a time? You'll be branded a leech."

"A leech?" he laughed. "Oh, I highly doubt that."

"Matthew," she frowned. "You may not think it's so laid down in America, but people talk. You're a new author. Do you want to be known for being a great writer or for abusing your expense account?"

Matthew chuckled and put his wine glass down. He reached across the table and took Mary's hand in his own, looking at her with playful eyes.

"Mary, I don't quite know how to talk about this with you, but do you know how many copies of my book have been sold worldwide?" he asked.

"No," she said after thinking for a moment. "I know it's a bestseller, of course, but I've never seen any numbers. You've never mentioned it."

Matthew grinned, stroking his fingers over her hand. "Darling, I hope you don't think that I'm bragging, but _Epiphany_ has sold nearly 2 million copies."

"Two million?!" she blurted out, covering her mouth with her free hand as she glanced around to see if anyone else in the restaurant had overheard her outburst.

"Nearly two million," Matthew said. "Now, that includes digital copies of the book as well, and the price tends to fluctuate accounting for different formats, currency exchange, seasonal on-sales, discounts, and such. However, I'm sure you know what the retail price of my book is, and even using conservative estimates, I think you can figure out how much money the publisher has already made off of me."

Mary swallowed as she reluctantly ran the numbers in her head. She didn't want to obsess over how much money Matthew made, but it wasn't hard to do the math now that she knew how many copies he'd sold. She bought _Epiphany_ in hardback when it was released in November of last year, back when she had long forgotten who Matthew was entirely. It was on sale for £10.99. Even if the publisher made only a few quid in profit per book, at nearly two million copies sold…

"So, do you see now how I don't give a shit about spending a few thousand quid of their money?" Matthew teased.

Mary could only laugh and nod her head in reply.

* * *

Mary ended up putting most of the art and furniture that she kept from Painswick House into storage. Her real estate agent found her a cute furnished flat in Chelsea to lease until the end of the year, and she used it mainly as a clothes closet. She and Matthew had slept there twice in the past two weeks since she'd left Belgravia, and truthfully, she preferred his hotel.

Her reminiscing was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone on the desk. Mary frowned and looked up in surprise. It was rare for anyone to call Matthew on the hotel line. Everyone who knew him would ring his mobile. She got up from the sofa and picked up the cordless phone on the third ring.

"Hello," she said pleasantly.

"Lady Mary?" a voice asked after a brief pause.

"Yes, this is she," Mary said slowly, confused as to how someone would be calling for her at Matthew's hotel suite, and on the hotel line, at that.

"I'm sorry, Lady Mary, I just assumed it was you. This is Jim Wakefield from HarperCollins in New York. We met a few months ago when you came to visit our office with Matthew?" the man said.

"Ah, Jim, of course!" Mary smiled. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks," Jim replied.

"I'm sorry, but if you're looking for Matthew, you've missed him. He's having a swim in the pool, actually," Mary said.

"That explains why he isn't answering his cell," Jim said. "Do you know how long he'll be, Lady Mary?"

"Another half hour, I would expect," Mary answered. "Is it urgent? Shall I have him call you?"

"Yes, please, Lady Mary," Jim said excitedly. "I've been ordered to get a hold of him right away, so the moment he comes back, please have him call us."

"All right," Mary said, frowning again at the assistant's agitated tone. "This must be serious. Isn't it only 8 in the morning over there?"

"8:07," Jim replied. "And yes, Lady Mary, yes, it's very serious."

"I hope it's not bad news," Mary stated, at a loss to guess what it could be. What was considered serious to a publisher? Had someone come forward and accused Matthew of plagiarism?

"Oh, definitely not bad news, Lady Mary!" Jim laughed. "It's good news. Very, very, very good news."

"My, now I can't wait for Matthew to come back," Mary smiled.

"Well, I suppose I can tell you, Lady Mary, but you must swear that you won't tell him before he calls us back. I'm not even supposed to be the one to tell Matthew. I was only to get him on the phone so that his agent could tell him the news herself," Jim said, his voice giddy.

"My lips are sealed, Jim," Mary grinned.

"All right," Jim whispered. "The thing is, we just found out this morning that _Epiphany_ is on the longlist for the Booker Prize!"

Mary frowned again, unsure as to what this revelation meant. "That's…wonderful…" she managed.

"It's amazing, Lady Mary!" Jim said breathlessly. "The Booker Prize is the highest award for fiction in the world, besides the Pulitzer of course, but Matthew isn't American so he wouldn't qualify anyway. The longlist only has 13 books on it, and just to be nominated for that is incredible, especially since Matthew is a debut writer. We hardly ever see mass market bestseller titles like _Epiphany_ make the Booker longlist."

Mary grinned. Jim's enthusiasm was contagious, and though she'd never heard of the Booker Prize, or any literary award for that matter, to hear that Matthew was being recognized for his work made her quite proud.

"Well, I won't say anything to Matthew when he gets back, but I can't wait to see his reaction when he gets the news," she smiled.

"Thank you, Lady Mary," Jim said. "We're going to conference in the UK office since it's a British award, but yes, we are desperate to speak to him."

Mary and Jim exchanged a pleasant goodbye and ended the call. Mary shook her head, then went back to the sofa, grabbed her tablet and Googled the Booker Prize. Apparently, the longlist for the Man Booker Prize would be officially announced tomorrow, so HarperCollins must have been told in advance somehow. She was quite impressed by the gushing words she found online of how the Booker Prize was 'the ultimate prize to win in the English speaking world' and that even being nominated for the longlist brought 'international renown'. Her interest was piqued considerably though when she read that the Booker Prize was awarded in October at a black-tie dinner ceremony held at Guildhall in London. Though Mary was not familiar with the well-known figures of the literary world, she did know Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, who attended the ceremony regularly. If Royalty would be present at the awards, then the Booker Prize was a big deal indeed.

Mary smiled, putting her tablet down and looking out the window. Matthew's book had to be shortlisted for him to be invited to the awards dinner, but she quite liked the idea of going to a fancy black-tie affair with him. She looked out over the River Thames, the sun shining off the water, and anxiously awaited Matthew's return.

 **Cyclebeat, Lombard Court, London, England, September 2015**

"Mary," Anna growled. "Come on, put your mobile away. You know the rules."

"I know, I know," Mary rolled her eyes. She tossed her phone down on to the spare towels next to her bike and resumed spinning away at the pedals as the heavy beat of the music pulsed around them.

"What's going on?" Anna asked. "You've been staring at your phone since we got here."

"I'm just checking for something," Mary replied. "They announce the shortlist for the Booker Prize today, but it hasn't been posted online yet."

"Ah," Anna smiled knowingly. "Now I get it. Why doesn't Matthew's publisher know in advance, though?"

"They never do, apparently," Mary grumbled. "Word gets around about the longlist because they want to drum up publicity in advance, but the shortlist is closely guarded until the actual announcement."

"How is Matthew dealing with all of it?" Anna asked as they both stood up with the rest of the class to pedal out of the saddle for the next interval.

"Remarkably well," Mary smiled. "I know he's nervous, but he tries not to let on."

"Sounds like him," Anna nodded. "So he's just happy to be nominated, is he?"

"Definitely not," Mary laughed. "He's honoured to be nominated, of course, but he wants to win. He can be rather competitive about some things, actually."

"I'll say," Anna laughed. "Poor William won't make the mistake of trying to keep pace with him on a bike again."

"Hey, I heard that!" William grumbled from behind them.

"Don't be a git, they're only saying the truth," Daisy told him from the bike next to his.

William grunted and didn't say anything more.

Mary and Anna shared a smile.

* * *

"Anything?" Anna asked as she opened her locker. Mary was sitting on the bench, towel wrapped around herself, scrolling through her phone screen.

"Nothing yet," Mary grumbled. "I don't want to text Matthew and ask. We agreed that his making the longlist was already an honour and we wouldn't make a big deal out of today."

"How utterly mature of you," Anna smiled, grabbing her shampoo and body wash.

Mary blushed slightly and said nothing. While they had agreed that they would not agonize over whether _Epiphany_ made it to the six-book shortlist for the Booker Prize, when Matthew finally did get back to the hotel suite and she casually told him that his publisher had called, all hell had broken loose soon after he learned the news. He wanted to change first, but she told him to return the call before he did anything else, using the lame excuse that Jim had sounded rather agitated and was insistent that Matthew call him the moment he got back in. Matthew had looked at her suspiciously, but placed the call while standing in his swim trunks and bath robe. She had the foresight to record his reaction on video as he spoke to his publisher. It wasn't as though she had never seen Matthew happy or excited before, but there was just something different about his expression when he heard the great news. It was a mix between disbelief, wonder, joy and euphoria all at once. He looked so utterly boyish and adorable, blue eyes wide and bright, mouth agape, opening and closing like a fish as he struggled for words.

Mary blushed again as she recalled their celebrations that followed, where Matthew was decidedly not boyish. There were still pieces of furniture in the suite that she couldn't look at without her skin turning pink.

"So when do you think that Matthew will propose?" Anna asked, waking Mary from her x-rated recollections.

"What?" Mary frowned.

"What?" Anna asked lightly, closing her locker.

"Anna, we've only been together for seven months!" Mary whinged, following her towards the showers. "I hardly think that marriage is on his mind."

"You don't think that marriage is on his mind?" Anna repeated incredulously. "He's been in love with you for over ten years!"

"But we were apart for that entire time," Mary objected. "It isn't as though any of it counts. We're just enjoying being together now, learning about each other. That's all."

"So you think that after he's yearned for you all this time and now he finally has you again, he's going to just live each day as it comes and whatever happens, happens?" Anna laughed. "Mary, he wrote _Epiphany_ about you, more or less. If he ends up winning the Booker Prize for it, it'll be a sign that you're meant to be together, don't you think? You can't honestly believe that he'd let you go now that he's found you again, do you?"

Mary stepped into the private shower stall and placed her shampoo, conditioner, body wash and washcloth on the shelf. She frowned as she turned on the water and adjusted it to the temperature she wanted. Still frowning, she peeked around the dividing wall between the stalls and looked into Anna's shower.

"I'm not saying Matthew is treating our relationship casually," Mary said. "But I don't think marriage is foremost in his mind. Men don't think that way. Look at John. You've been living together for three years now and you aren't married."

"Only because we spent our money on the house, and he's still got bad memories of his divorce," Anna retorted. "I told him that I didn't need anything grand, but he wants to have a proper Church wedding with all his friends and relations there, so I told him he'd have to save up for it. Obviously money is no object for the two of you, so it really should be just a matter of time before he pops the question, I should expect."

Mary frowned and went back to her own shower, stepping under the warm water and closing her eyes as she soaked her hair. Even after she and Anna had showered and changed, she was still frowning as they left the studio.

 **HarperCollins Publishers UK, The News Building, London Bridge Quarter, London, England, September 2015**

"Now Matthew, you know I have to ask you the question that keeps coming up," the reporter said breathlessly, her eyes twinkling at Matthew. "I've promised our loyal readers that I would."

"Of course," Matthew replied easily. "Just as long as you and your loyal readers know that I still refuse to answer it."

"Oh, Matthew, you devil!" the reporter cackled, running her hand up and down Matthew's arm.

Mary rolled her eyes and she stood off to the side, watching as Matthew completed his eighth and final press interview of the day. HarperCollins UK had set up this little junket in response to the numerous demands that came pouring in once _Epiphany_ was announced on the shortlist for the Booker Prize last week. No British writer had won the prize since 2012, and no book with the popularity of _Epiphany_ had ever won in the long history of the award. As a result, Matthew was in demand and his publisher gladly set up a day for the media to poke and prod him as much as they liked.

The majority of the interviewers were female, Mary noticed, and almost all of them had been absolutely enthralled by Matthew as they asked their questions. Mary didn't know if she was watching a press tour for _Epiphany_ being nominated for the Booker Prize or a fan club question and answer session for Matthew.

"It's just that the way you've written such a strong female character as your lead – her intelligence, her wit, her passion – it's really resonated with readers across the world. How were you able to create such a memorable protagonist?" the reporter gushed, leaning closer to Matthew and crossing her legs beneath her pencil skirt.

Mary coughed quietly to stop herself from grunting in annoyance.

"You mean how did I create such a strong female character considering I'm a man, don't you?" Matthew replied, arching his eyebrow at the dazzled reporter.

"Well, we usually see female writers as the ones willing to put a woman at the centre of a novel. What made you decide to write the story the way you did?" the reporter asked.

"It was always my intent from the very first draft," Matthew replied. "I don't think that a story built around a strong woman is so difficult to imagine. I have a lot of strong women in my life."

Mary smiled and looked down at her feet.

"Ah yes, which brings me to the question everyone wants to know – is your female lead based on someone from real life?"

"No comment," Matthew smiled.

"Oh, Matthew, what do I need to do to get you to talk?" the reporter laughed, placing her hand just above her cleavage.

Mary frowned, wondering just what the woman would find to laugh about when she was done pulling her fake blonde extensions out of her head.

"And that's all the time we have, I'm afraid," an assistant called as he came over and stopped the interview. "Here's a fact sheet with some quotes from Matthew that you are free to use. There's no embargo, we just ask that you mention that HarperCollins made him available to you today."

"I certainly will," the reporter grinned, standing up and shaking Matthew's hand. "Anytime that you want to make yourself available, Matthew, do let me know."

Matthew smiled nervously and bid the reporter goodbye. He thanked the assistant and walked over to Mary, giving her a quick kiss.

"Thank you for waiting, darling," he smiled, taking her hand and turning towards the door.

"Of course," Mary nodded. "I was quite impressed by the gripping questions those esteemed journalists asked you."

"Don't be unkind," Matthew smiled. "At this point, I've done so many press engagements that I've heard and answered pretty much everything. There's only so many different questions they can ask before they start going over well-trodden ground. They have a thankless job, trying to appear as though they're interested in what I have to say."

"Actually, I'd say most of them were quite interested in your mouth, not to mention other parts of you," she rolled her eyes. "I thought I'd need to bring you a towel to protect yourself from the drool spilling all over the place."

"Darling, you, of all people, are well aware of the art of appearing friendly to total strangers. I'm sure all of the reporters will forget about me the moment they meet their deadlines," he laughed, holding the door open for her to walk out into the bright sun outside.

"Whatever," she sighed, squeezing his hand. "I suppose I'll have to get used to the female population making fools of themselves in your presence. Those brainless dullards in there were a bit too much to take, though."

"Well, it's over with," he smiled. "Are you looking forward to the awards dinner?"

"Of course," she teased, arching her eyebrow at him as she put on her sunglasses. "I'm getting a new dress just for the occasion."

"Are you?" he smirked. "That seems like a great deal of bother. What if I don't win?"

"You should have more faith, darling," Mary said, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "Win or lose, I promise it will be a night to remember."

"Well, then I suppose I can't lose, can I?" Matthew said, grinning at her as they returned to his hotel.

 **Valentino Boutique, Sloane Street, London, England, September 2015**

"Lady Mary!" the store clerk exclaimed, coming over and hugging Mary lightly, placing light kisses on both cheeks. "Welcome! Welcome! Right this way, please."

Mary followed her through the boutique and over to a dressing area in the back. She stopped listening to the clerk yammer on about the gown they'd chosen for her to wear to the Man Booker Prize awards dinner and focused on the covered mannequin standing at the back of the room. Truly, Mary already owned numerous gowns that she could have worn to the ceremony, but she wanted to get something new and exclusive. First, Matthew's publisher had insisted he get a new suit, and second, this would be their first formal public appearance together. Matthew's profile wasn't much higher than hers, in London at least, but that would soon change, particularly if he won the Booker Prize. Once _Epiphany_ was made into a film, he would be even more in demand and his public image would be important. Matthew didn't care about such things, but if this dinner would be their debut in advance of a potentially very big year for him, Mary wanted everything to be perfect.

The clerk finished her presentation and Mary smiled politely as the cover was taken off the mannequin.

"My, my," Mary smiled, admiring the sleeveless black dress with white side panels. She slowly circled around it, loving the sleek silhouette and lightness of the fabric.

"Just a touch of lip colour and you'll look absolutely fabulous!" the clerk exclaimed.

"Yes," Mary nodded. "This will do very nicely."

 **Westminster Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, October 2015**

"What do you think?" Matthew asked, holding the mobile to his ear as he frowned at the selection of dress shirts hanging in his closet.

"Sounds good," Alex replied over the phone. "I could see her thinking it's far too soon, though."

"She could, couldn't she?" Matthew sighed, walking out of his closet and going out into the living room to take a seat on the sofa. "Maybe I should wait, then?"

"You don't want to wait, do you?" Alex teased him.

"Of course I don't," Matthew rolled his eyes. "I've wasted far too much time already, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, but if waiting a while longer increases your chances of getting the answer that you want from her, then waiting isn't so bad, now is it?" Alex noted.

"I know it will catch her by surprise, even shock her," Matthew said. "But I think it makes sense to do it now. These last few months, it's been even better than it was before. After we had that talk in New York, everything has been so…comfortable…since then. It just feels natural to do it now, Alex. I know she loves me, and I don't want to wait."

"You do know that you could increase your chances significantly if you would just tell her that…" Alex suggested.

"No," Matthew said firmly. "I won't do that. It wouldn't be fair to her."

"I think she would want to know, Matthew," Alex said honestly.

"My answer's no," Matthew repeated. "I want her to accept me for me, not for anything else."

"Very well," Alex replied.

The door chime sounded and Matthew looked up from the sofa.

"I've got to run," he told Alex. "The tailor is here to do the final fitting for my suit."

"All right," Alex said. "Keep me updated."

"I will," Matthew nodded. "Thanks. Bye."

 **Home of Lady Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, October 2015**

"What do you think?" Anna asked, stepping back and waiting as Mary turned her head left and right to examine the waves in her hair.

"It's perfect," she nodded finally, admiring the hairstyle Anna had fashioned for her. "Exactly what I had in mind – classic and sophisticated, almost old Hollywood in way."

"It contrasts well with the lipstick," Anna smiled. "And I love your dress. It's absolutely gorgeous."

"Thank you," Mary smiled, turning her chair around to face Anna. "Matthew's suit is a dark blue, so I think it'll work quite well. I don't want to take any attention away from him, so I think keeping to black and white is a good idea."

"I agree," Anna nodded, sitting down on the bed. "I can't wait to see the two of you on the telly."

Mary smiled, then looked down at her lap.

"Mary?" Anna frowned. "What is it?"

Mary looked up and shook her head. Anna knew her nervous twitches far too well.

"Why do you think that Matthew never mentions me in any of his interviews?" Mary asked quietly.

"Does he get asked about his love life a lot?" Anna asked.

"Not directly, no," Mary shook her head. "But he never says that the character in his book is based on me, even though that's the most commonly asked question that he gets, by far. I just wonder why he hasn't brought it up."

"Maybe he's trying to guard his privacy, and yours," Anna shrugged. "You know, a lot of celebrities don't like talking about their personal lives. They don't want it to become a 'thing' like Brangelina, or George and Amal."

"Yes, I'm sure that's it," Mary smiled bravely.

"You've never asked him about it?" Anna enquired.

Mary shook her head. "I've made it clear several times that I don't appreciate these stupid bimbos who come around to interview him. They practically throw themselves at him, it's disgusting. He could stop it all so easily if he just told them that he has a girlfriend, but he never does, and he keeps giving vague answers to keep the mystery going about his main character."

"Well, it may be that's a strategy from the publisher," Anna offered. "It's a hook that they can keep coming back to. The less people know about the inspiration for the woman in his book, the more interested they are and that means more hits on his website and sales of the book."

"I know," Mary nodded. "I know. It's nothing, really. I just…maybe he's grown rather comfortable with his life at the moment, and so he doesn't feel the need to tell the public about his relationship status."

"Or perhaps he thinks that the public doesn't have a right to know," Anna said carefully.

"Yes, but the consequence of that is that everyone thinks he's single and available," Mary complained. "And I don't know, maybe he likes it that way. Maybe that's why he hasn't proposed, or even discussed the future."

"Last month you said you were just taking each day as it comes," Anna said, surprised at Mary's mention of marriage.

"I know I said that," Mary scoffed, waving her hand in the air dismissively. "And I am! We are! We're very happy, but it's different for Matthew. It has to be. To me, all I know about us is the past seven months. He knows about everything from before, from years ago. We were living together in New York before my accident. Did we ever talk about the future? Did we ever make plans?"

"What if you did?" Anna asked. "That was over ten years ago."

"I know, but say we did make plans. Matthew would remember that. And the fact that he hasn't mentioned it all, and doesn't say in his interviews that he's no longer single makes me question whether he's looking for a long term commitment right now, or whether he's just…having fun."

"Mary, you're going to be on his arm next week at the awards dinner," Anna reminded her. "Regardless of what he says, or doesn't say, once those photographs of the two of you hit the internet, there will be no doubt at all where his loyalty lies."

Mary nodded, wringing her hands together in her lap.

 **Guildhall, London, England, October 2015**

"You look gorgeous," Matthew smiled as the limousine pulled up to the kerb.

"Thank you," Mary smiled. "You cleaned up rather nicely, yourself."

He lifted his fingers to her ear and touched her delicate diamond earrings.

"These look even better than I imagined when I bought them," he said.

"It took me a while to decide on these," she joked. "There were so many different boxes to choose from."

"Well, I'm glad that you finally have the chance to wear them," he nodded. "I often thought you never would, you know."

"There's no need to talk about that," she said confidently. "Let's just enjoy tonight."

"Right," he nodded.

The door was opened for them and Matthew stepped out first. He reached his hand back and helped Mary out of the limo. Taking his arm, she walked with him up the red carpet towards the entrance to the old town hall building. There were photographers and a few fans milling about, but nothing too outrageous. Mary was used to more onlookers and paparazzi at some of the charity events she attended.

"Matthew! Matthew! Over here, please!" a few photographers called out.

Matthew stopped in front of the backdrop set up for the photographers and posed for the cameras, holding tight to Mary's hand. He followed Mary's lead and looked this way and that, ignoring the calls of the photographers and making sure they were always looking in the same direction.

"Just you now, Matthew, please," a photographer called and one of the attendants waved Matthew over. Matthew hesitated in releasing Mary's hand and she smiled at him reassuringly before sending him a few steps away so they could get photos of him by himself.

"This way, Miss! This way, please!" the photographers called to Mary. She turned a few times more, then walked away to rejoin Matthew further down the carpet.

"Miss! What's your name? Miss!" the photographers called.

Mary took Matthew's arm and they continued on down the red carpet and into Guildhall.

* * *

"It is my honour to announce that the winner of the Man Booker Prize for Fiction for 2015 is…" the Duchess of Cornwall paused, looking out to the audience over her glasses. The Great Hall was completely silent, every guest at every table waiting on her.

" _Epiphany_ by Matthew Crawley, HarperCollins Publishers," the Duchess declared, smiling and applauding along with the audience.

Matthew barely heard his name, or the din that followed the announcement. He slowly turned and saw Mary's beaming face. He leaned closer and they kissed softly, their lips touching for a brief moment. As he moved to pull back, she raised her hand and caressed his cheek, their eyes meeting each other. Matthew finally rose from his chair and made his way to the stage, the entire room giving him a standing ovation as he shook hands with the Duchess and accepted his trophies – a heavy glass plaque proclaiming him the winner of the 2015 Booker Prize and a special bound copy of his book. He could feel a blush coming over his cheeks as he turned towards the microphone.

Mary sat back down, a silly grin on her face as she looked up at Matthew. In the days to come, she would learn that Matthew was an underdog to win the prize, that his unexpected victory only raised the clamour for the coming movie version of his book, as well as a sequel. Their red carpet photos would be splashed across the Entertainment section of newspapers and websites across the world.

Tonight, though, she simply sat and proudly listened to his acceptance speech.

"Thank you, truly," Matthew began. "This is quite a shock, really. I must first congratulate all of my fellow nominees. I've read all of your books and I feel truly honoured to be among you tonight."

Mary watched as Matthew nervously went through his acceptance speech. She had asked him if he wanted to write anything down and he said no, thinking it was both presumptuous and bad luck to plan as though he was going to win. She could almost see his brain working furiously to come up with what to say next as he thanked the title sponsor of the Booker Prize, his mother, his publisher and agent, and all the readers and fans.

Mary's hand moved reflexively to her chest, touching the heart shaped pendant that he gave her ten years ago in New York. She wore it beneath her dress as it didn't match the diamond jewellery she was wearing tonight, but she never took it off. Watching Matthew speak on stage, she was filled with a sense of both pride and calm. It was a joy to see the book that Matthew had literally poured his heart and soul into receive such recognition, but she was more focused on something else.

Matthew was always so confident and relaxed around her. Of course, they still argued, just as they apparently had from the day they first met, but she never felt as though he was trying to wound her, or that his remarks were ever intended to be malicious. Even when they fought over something stupid, she knew that he loved her; it was evident and obvious, something she did not need to worry about. To this day, she thought there was something wrong with him for having stayed faithful to her for over a decade when she had no memory of him at all. But that was Matthew. He knew, all that time, that the likelihood of her ever knowing about his feelings, let alone reciprocating them, were virtually nil. Yet he loved her anyway.

Mary smiled as she felt a giddiness start in her stomach and flutter through her chest. No, they had not discussed moving in together, or marriage, children, or several other heavy topics. But Mary knew, with greater certainty than she ever had before, that Matthew would stand by her for as long as she wanted him to. Their future was still undecided, and winning this award might change their world once again, but this time they would face whatever was to come as a couple, rather than apart, and Mary felt a remarkable confidence in all that was to come with him in her life.

"Finally," Matthew said, turning to look at her from the dais on stage. "My deepest gratitude to the inspiration for this book, Lady Mary Crawley. I love you, Mary. Thank you."

* * *

Though the ceremony ended with Matthew's speech, his obligations were just beginning. He was ushered over to a cordoned off area to take photographs with his trophies and do some quick interviews with the media. He craned his neck for some glimpse of Mary, hoping he could bring her over to share in this moment, but he couldn't see her past the cameras, microphones and well-wishers. A champagne flute was put into his hand and he was brought around to visit with the Duchess of Cornwall, the panel of judges, his fellow nominees and other dignitaries. He spent a full hour shaking hands, accepting congratulations and giving noncommittal answers to questions about his next book. The HarperCollins table was rowdy and enthusiastic. A press release was already sent out trumpeting Matthew's victory and someone mentioned a party that the publisher would be hosting for him at a posh restaurant later in the evening. His agent took his trophies and someone else put a fresh champagne flute in his hand, but Matthew didn't bother saying anything as he finally spotted Mary standing by herself against the far wall. Extricating himself from the energetic grasp of one of the revellers, Matthew made his way across the room to her.

"Congratulations, darling," Mary smiled, kissing him lightly.

"Thank you," he smiled at her, taking her hand. "Come with me."

"Are you allowed to leave?" she asked. "It seems you're quite popular."

"I think they can spare me for a moment. I suspect the celebrations will be going on well into the early morning. No one knows how to party like us literary types, you know," he joked.

Mary laughed and allowed him to pull her out the door and down the hall. They moved quickly away from the noise of the Great Hall and out another set of doors. Mary blinked in surprise as she found herself outside in a small courtyard surrounded by high stone walls.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking up at the starlit sky.

"Just a garden that I noticed from earlier," he explained. "I expected it would be deserted."

"And so it is," she smiled, glancing around the small green space. "How are you feeling?"

"Shocked. Stunned. Overjoyed," he laughed. "That was fun, I have to say. Apparently my publisher has an after-party of sorts organized for later. I expect there'll be some fierce hangovers in the morning."

"No doubt they think it's worth it," she nodded. "I think your agent is happier about this than you are."

"I'm happy!" he laughed. "But it's just all so surreal. I know it's a tremendous honour, and I'm grateful to have won, but I never set out to write an award-winning book, so all of this feels entirely strange."

"Were you merely satisfied that you were published, then?" she asked.

"Not entirely, no," he shook his head. "I wanted to be able to make a living by writing, so being published was tremendous, but it didn't necessarily guarantee I could make a career of this. I suppose once it was apparent that the book was a commercial success, that was all I really cared about, not because of the money, but because it meant I didn't need to get another job, that I could spend all of my time doing what I loved to do."

"A luxury that not everyone is blessed with," she nodded.

"You know, I found it quite funny that they describe me as a debut writer," he chuckled. "It makes it sound as though I whipped up _Epiphany_ out of the blue and that my first book was an instant hit."

"They do like to gloss over your years of struggle, don't they?" she smiled. "You better be careful. Now that you're an award-winning author, your publisher will want to release every grocery list and memo you ever wrote."

"God, I hope not," he laughed. "That would be quite embarrassing."

"Oh?" she said mischievously. "Some scandalous drafts floating around from your past, Matthew?"

"I'll never tell," he blushed. "Well, at least not without some convincing, anyway."

Mary laughed and kissed him.

"So, how would you like to celebrate tonight?" she asked, arching her eyebrow at him playfully. "You can have anything you desire, darling."

"Anything?" he blinked, his eyes lighting up.

Mary shook her head ruefully. "I'll probably regret this in the morning, but yes, anything, Matthew. Anything at all. Tonight is yours, darling, and I will do whatever you ask."

"Well, there is one thing that I would very much like you to do," he said, smirking at her devilishly.

"I'll bet there is," Mary rolled her eyes and smiled. "It involves a thong, doesn't it?"

"No," Matthew shook his head. "At least, not in the beginning."

"Then what is it, pray?" she grinned.

Matthew's stare grew serious as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Mary's curious gaze turned to shock as he pulled out a small velvet box coloured Tiffany blue.

"Matthew…" she whispered.

"I want you to know that I didn't plan on doing this tonight, or more accurately, I didn't plan on doing this because of tonight," he began. "The truth is, darling, that I've been planning this for over ten years now. I know we've just reconnected for eight months now, and that might seem like a rather short time for most couples, but Mary, we aren't most couples, and I don't need to wait another day to confirm what I already know – I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Mary swallowed nervously, looking back and forth from his eyes down to the jewellery box in his hands.

"Oh my God," she gasped, her breathing and pulse quickening.

Matthew got down on one knee lifting the jewellery box in front of her.

Mary covered her mouth with her hand, looking down at him with wide eyes.

Matthew opened the jewellery box, unveiling a gorgeous cushion cut diamond set on a thin white gold ring.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he grinned. "Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Mary felt tears brimming in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't manage any words for a moment.

She was too busy smiling.

"Yes!" she finally shouted, the tears spilling down her cheeks as Matthew rose to his feet. His fingers shook as he slid the ring on to the appropriate finger of her left hand. He barely got it on before she grabbed him and kissed him fiercely.

His arms wrapped around her tightly as he returned her kiss. She started laughing against his lips and he joined her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around, their joyful squeals interrupted every few seconds by another kiss.

* * *

By the time Mary and Matthew wandered back into the Great Hall, the crowd had thinned a bit. The HarperCollins table was still going strong, but many of the others had left or moved on to various receptions and after-parties organized by the publishers.

"Shall we rejoin your adoring fans?" Mary asked him.

"We'll see them at the after-party," he replied, kissing her hand before pulling her towards the exit.

"Matthew! Lady Mary!" a photographer called as they turned for the door. "Could I get a shot of the two of you together please?"

"Of course," Matthew nodded.

Mary put her right arm around his shoulders, pulling him towards her as she looked at the camera. Matthew turned his body towards her, his left arm sliding around her waist. They both grinned widely as the photographer snapped off a series of shots.

"Perfect, that's perfect," the photographer smiled.

 **Westminster Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, October 2015**

Mary could not stop playing with her engagement ring all afternoon. She had a bit of a scare when she removed it before showering and almost dropped it down the sink. She kept glancing at it during lunch and idly touched it while they watched television, and now lying on the sofa in Matthew's arms, she lifted her hand to her face and watched the diamond shine in the sunlight from the window.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his voice heavy from the lack of sleep they both had suffered last night. They hadn't returned from the HarperCollins party until past 2 in the morning, and hadn't fallen asleep until close to 4.

"I love it," she grinned. "Were you worried that I wouldn't?"

"I wasn't worried, no," he replied. "If you hated it, I would have bought you another one."

"Ah," she smiled. "So the only area of concern was my answer, then?"

"Yes," he laughed, kissing the top of her head. "I was a bit concerned about that."

"Then why propose last night?" she asked, turning to rest her head on his chest and look up at him. "If you waited until Christmas, or our anniversary, things may have been more settled."

"Possibly," he nodded. "But then I would have missed out on four months of calling you my fiancée."

"Mmm," she smiled. "I like the sound of that."

Matthew laughed and kissed her forehead.

"When did you know that you wanted to marry me?" she asked, looking up at him intently.

He blinked. "When? A while ago."

"A while?" she laughed. "And just how long is 'a while'?"

Matthew swallowed. "October 2004," he whispered.

Mary frowned. "2004? But that was…"

"Two months after we moved to New York…the first time," he nodded. "We actually talked about it…a lot."

"We did?" she exclaimed. "Back then? We talked about…"

"It sort of started as a hypothetical discussion," he said. "We needed to think about ways to keep you in New York. I was on a student visa, but you were just visiting. Getting married wasn't a guarantee at all, but it would have strengthened our case if you didn't find a job in time."

"So it was for practical reasons, then?" she frowned.

"The discussion was about the practical side of it, yes," he nodded. "But before it started sounding like an immigration scheme, I sat you down and told you how much I loved you, how much I couldn't imagine life without you, how whether we were in New York, or London, or anywhere else, I just wanted to be with you."

"And what did I say to that?" she asked softly.

"You said I had to say it properly," he chuckled. "You said that you wouldn't answer unless I kneeled down and everything."

"I did, did I?" she laughed.

"Yes, you did, and I did, and you said yes," he grinned.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asked. "Why didn't you mention that I was more than just your girlfriend? You never said anything about our being engaged."

"I didn't want you to feel as though you needed to live up to something you didn't remember from our past," he explained. "It's one thing to wonder what we did and how we were with each other. That's to be expected, and I think you've handled all of that very well. But, to tell you about our engagement, no matter how badly I wanted to, wouldn't have been fair. I wanted you to answer me honestly, to want to marry me for what you know about me now, not for something I told you about the past."

Mary rose up and straddled his hips, resting her hands on his shoulders as she leaned down and kissed him.

"That's very gallant of you, darling," she teased.

"Well, I am rather fastidious about doing things properly, you know," he joked, kissing her again.

 **fin**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Photo credit for the epic cover graphic to _theladydockers_ and _thatdanstevens_.


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